


You Just Brace and You Breathe

by Dira Sudis (dsudis)



Series: Every Marine a Wolfbrother [4]
Category: Generation Kill, Iskryne Series - Elizabeth Bear & Sarah Monette
Genre: Afghanistan, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Dubious Consent, M/M, Wolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-22
Updated: 2011-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-26 10:53:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/282228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsudis/pseuds/Dira%20Sudis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Afghanistan, December 2001.  Bo meets Frost, and then Nate meets Brad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Afghanistan, December 2001

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Tevere, Riverlight, and emilyenrose for beta help, and everyone else who listened while I tried to figure out what I was doing with this story!

Bo and Strider trotted ahead of Nate and Jim as they headed to the tower. They'd been back at Camp Rhino for less than forty-eight hours and Nate was already sick of the whispers about the next big mission. Supposedly all of the Al Qaeda leadership--even Osama Bin Laden--were up in some cave in the mountains. Tora Bora. If everyone in the camp knew, it had to be bullshit, and if it wasn't bullshit why weren't they _there_ right now? Why weren't they already leaping to the attack?

Bo and Strider's usual jostling for position suddenly collapsed into a scuffle--Bo pounced on Strider, growling as she bore him down. They did this half a dozen times a day, jumping each other when they were bored. They'd been weanlings together at TBS; they had met before Nate and Jim did. Bo and Strider were like littermates, if a litter could have two alphas. Commanding sister platoons kept them just busy enough that Captain Whitmer's brother, Astra, rarely had to step in on their endless tussling.

Except this wasn't that. Nate stopped walking and stared as Bo went straight for the throat. He suddenly recognized the feeling of irritated anticipation that had been creeping up on him for--how long? How long had he ignored it? He forced himself to keep calm.

"Nate?" Jim said, following Nate's frozen gaze to the wolves. Strider was still under Bo, but he hadn't given up, snarling and struggling while she used every ounce of her lighter weight to try to keep him down. "Strider can handle--"

Not trusting his voice, Nate said it through the pack-sense, and even there his words were edged with hysteria. _No, Strider can't. She's going into heat._

Jim was already six feet away from Nate--he'd gone on a couple of strides after Nate stopped--but he backed up a step, like it might be contagious. Or, well, like he might be seconds away from not having any choice about how close he got to Nate.

"Do you know--"

Nate shook his head. He had no idea how long he'd been ignoring the warning signs, no idea how much time he had before Bo was actually in heat. It could be minutes or hours, maybe as much as a day, but it was coming.

"Right," Jim said, and without another word he fell to the ground, already holding his breath.

Nate dropped to his knees but didn't bother with a physical element; he just stopped suppressing his anxiety and more-than-anxiety.

Bo and Strider burst apart like a grenade had gone off between their bodies. Even before they'd gotten too big to be pulled out of a fight by the scruff of their necks, Nate and Jim had followed SOP and broken up fights between them using their bonds rather than their hands. It was reassuring to know that even now they both cared more about checking on their brothers than fighting.

Strider ran to butt Jim in the chest hard enough to make him breathe. Bo bounded over to Nate and tried to circle her body around his, hackles raised and tail out straight, looking around for whatever had dared to frighten him. Nate put his arms around Bo and buried his face in her fur, and carefully didn't tell her where to look.

* * *

Nate was warm for the first time since he'd set foot in Afghanistan. Their combined body heat had quickly raised the temperature in the sealed isolation unit to something that felt downright balmy. Bo hated the cold at least as much as Nate did, but the plastic confines of isolation irritated her.

Everything irritated her right now. She'd recognized what she was feeling a few minutes after Nate did, once she wasn't distracted by her fight with Strider. She knew what was coming and, unlike Nate, she looked forward to it with something that would have been blind optimism if it had been more self-aware. She was simply, wolfishly certain it would go right this time.

Nate remembered that, from last December. She had been sure they were about to get it right every time the heat-shack's entrance door opened. Every time. Nate had never tried to tell her otherwise--certainly not the first time, when he'd believed it, too. Not after the first one's brother gave up and called an abort when Bo wouldn't stop fighting his brother. Not when the second one's did the same. Not when the third one did after Bo bloodied his brother and he'd punched Nate in the back of the head so hard Nate's ears were still ringing when the watch team came running in. Not any of the five times after that, and not during the two days they spent in the heat shack after the breeding had officially failed. Bo had been dosed with suppressors, but they never really killed the feeling. Bo's lingering expectation that the door would open again and this time it would go right had been even worse than the endless miserable hard-on.

And after, when everyone thought Nate had had it _easy_ because he hadn't really gotten fucked....

Nate didn't want to think about last December now. He wasn't going to think about whatever awaited them in the heat-shack, tonight or tomorrow or the next day. The isolation unit he and Bo were stuck in while they waited for cas-evac blocked scent, so if Bo went into heat early she wouldn't bring every dog wolf for a mile around running straight into some insane melee right out of the Old Ways. But a couple of layers of plastic and an air-recycler couldn't block pack-sense, especially not Bo's. That was going to be a headache for Nate's platoon if Bo went into heat before they got cas-evaced out of her effective range, but for now it meant Nate could reach out to each of them before they were cut off from him completely.

He'd started with Keith, and got nothing but quiet, confident assurance from his platoon NCO. They'd be fine until he got back; it was only a few days. They'd manage. No problem. Keith's confidence was nearly as wolfish as Bo's. When Nate observed that, Keith laughed and took it as a compliment.

Even before the team leaders, Nate reached out next to the four men in his platoon who were brothers to bitches. Three of them had had been through heats with their sisters since Nate took command of the platoon, and they'd all done this before. They all knew how it was--Derrick just a couple of months ago, right after the new go-ahead orders came down on September 13--and each of them offered Nate the same wry, silent sympathy and a more cautious version of Bo's certainty. _It's wartime now, LT. Bitches always want to make pups in wartime._ But Nate wasn't--wasn't only--looking for reassurance.

Bitches were the linchpins of any unit's collective pack-sense. Back in the old days, when men and wolves fought in packs headed by a queen-wolf and her chosen mate, the queen-wolf would control the pack-sense. Not only did she determine who was or wasn't a part of the pack, she was a kind of relay, strengthening and coordinating communications through the pack-sense.

The Marine Corps officially had no packs and no queen-wolves. But every year a few bitch pups came along who were too dominant and too strong in the pack-sense to ignore what they would have been, in the old days. Those bitches were sent to TBS or the Naval Academy to choose brothers who were going to be officers someday. Only a handful of platoons, out of the entire Marine Corps, were headed by officers with sisters. The vast majority got by just fine with the pack-sense managed by the sisters of their NCOs or enlisted men; brothers of bitches often ended up as RTOs, man and wolf's roles bleeding into each other.

Nate, being Bo's brother, had never been a part of any unit that didn't have Bo around to keep the pack-sense so clear and tight that radio chatter was a mere formality. He couldn't help worrying about what the platoon would do without her--especially if the mission did materialize, and they wound up in the mountains, coordinating a strike on Al Qaeda in _caves_.

Nate swallowed his worry for his men and projected only a reminder through the pack-sense to the brothers of bitches who would be left to hold the platoon together. _It will be different. Be careful. Keep close, take care of each other._ The men returned assurance--they'd done this before, their last platoon commander hadn't had a sister and they'd all gotten along just fine.

They hadn't actually done any of this before, though. They'd never maintained comms in mountains outside of California. None of them had ever been in combat, to say nothing of chasing terrorists into caves like an ancient wolfthreat hunting monsters. But Bo had a go-ahead order for this heat, which meant there was nothing she or Nate could do for the platoon except try to leave in good order. Nate sent one more blast of carefully-modulated concern to the brothers of bitches, and moved on to each of his team leaders in turn, and then on through the rest of the men. Nate told them all essentially the same thing-- _be smart, watch out for each other, be here when I get back_ and they all told him essentially the same thing in return, varying only by the accompanying helpful and instructive mental images. _Get some, sir_!

Nate's shoulders shook with laughter when he got to Tony, who--unusually circumspect or just more creative in his teasing, Nate couldn't be sure--gave Nate with crystal clarity the entire brochure he'd received at his recruiter's office: _What Wolf Breeding Means For Wolfbrothers_. There were line drawings and diagrams. It had a glossary of technical terms on the back page.

Nate hadn't yet gotten himself under control enough to move on to the next man when Bo nudged him sharply between the shoulder blades. Nate picked his head up from his knees and was abruptly conscious that he'd been sitting completely still like that--arms holding his legs in, head down--long enough for his muscles to stiffen into place.

Thanks to Bo, he was also aware that Captain Whitmer and Astra were headed in their direction, though they weren't yet in sight. The isolation unit had clear walls, but it was tucked away behind the medical unit, so Nate and Bo weren't on display to the entire camp like zoo animals.

Nate didn't get to his feet even when his CO came into view--apart from the fact that Nate was relieved of duty for the duration of breeding, he couldn't quite stand up straight in the field isolation unit. He settled for sitting up and throwing his shoulders back, while Bo, who'd been pacing all the time Nate had been keeping himself still, stood tall at his side.

Nate's corpsman was following Captain Whitmer, and Doc went around to the side of the isolation unit and pulled the diagnostic stick from the air recycler. Even though Nate knew Bo wasn't in heat yet--he wouldn't be able to ignore it if she were--he tensed for an instant before Doc waved the stick where Nate and Captain Whitmer could both see. It was clean and white, without a speck of the red that would show if Bo was giving off heat-scent.

Whitmer did the honors, opening the air-sealed hatch to let Nate and Bo out. Nate shivered as he stepped out into the cold, dry air, and shoved his hands into his pockets. He could hear the jet engines plainly now; his ride was ready, which was somehow a surprise even though it was the only logical reason Whitmer and Astra would have come to let him and Bo out.

Whitmer caught Nate's shoulder at the same time as Astra bodily shoved Bo aside, getting his teeth on her nape. Just a reminder, Nate knew. Bo dropped her head and tail obediently--wild and eager as she was feeling, she still had enough control to submit to her commander.

"Nate," Whitmer said, aloud, which meant he wanted to say something without passing it through the wolves.

Nate met Whitmer's eyes, giving him all his attention. The captain squeezed Nate's shoulder. "This isn't going to be like last year."

Nate hid his flinch, ruthlessly suppressed the sensation of being ambushed by someone he trusted. He'd heard variations on that phrase too many times in the days after Bo's failed breeding last year. _This isn't going to happen again, Lieutenant._ Even before he could open his mouth to say the necessary _yes sir_ , he felt a push of reassurance from Captain Whitmer coming through the pack-sense as forcefully as Astra's body knocking against Bo's.

"No," Whitmer said levelly. "Nate--for all the people who put that on you last year, you know I never did. I'm not putting it on you now. I know Bo, and I know that whatever Bo does when it comes to breeding--that's Bo. That's how she is. She'll either get with the program or she won't. You can't change that."

Nate exhaled a sigh and this time it was easy to say, "Yes, sir."

Whitmer's mouth twitched up in a flicker of smile. "Now as I was saying-- _procedurally_ , this isn't going to be like last year at Oceanside, or like the ocean breedings while we were all on the ships. BreedCom's got enough headaches coordinating breedings at all under these conditions. They're not even trying for Mike Bravos. It's too many wolves to get into one place at one time. It's going to be a solo."

Nate would have been content to relieve them of the logistical problem completely; that had been SOP during peacetime. Bitches overseas had their heats suppressed, which was obnoxious and distracting for them and their brothers--and still required precautionary isolation--but there would have been no real chance for anything to go wrong. They could have ridden it out at Camp Rhino; a few brothers of bitches who _hadn't_ gotten go-ahead orders after September 11 had already done it.

But desert-blooded wolves like Bo were still rare, and Bo had yet to produce a litter. BreedCom, just as much as the bitches, always wanted to make more pups during wartime. So off they went, to their logistically-simplified solo breeding. One wolf, pass or fail on the first try. It could be over very fast, if it did go wrong. And if not... just one wolf.

Nate realized he hadn't said anything. "I see, sir. That makes sense."

Whitmer studied Nate's face--Nate was holding himself too tightly within the pack-sense to give much away by that route--and then sighed. "One more thing. BreedCom's looking at this as an opportunity for bloodline crosses. Some of the breedings that have gone forward since we reached Afghanistan--they've been with wolves from elsewhere in the coalition."

Nate's stride faltered, and he focused for a moment just on stretching his legs, setting his feet down with assurance and not thinking about who might be tossed in with him and Bo.

"They'll be briefed, I'm sure, but they may not share our protocols--hell, they may not share a language. So if things go bad--" _when things go bad_ , Nate mentally corrected, "don't stand on ceremony. Look out for your safety, and Bo's. That's all that matters to me, getting the two of you back undamaged. Is that clear?"

Nate nodded sharply. "Solid copy, sir."

They were nearly at the C-130 now, and it was getting too loud to speak outside the pack-sense. Whitmer kept his hand on Nate's shoulder all the way up the ramp and inside, steering him to the waiting isolation unit. There was a cluster of Marines across from it, securing an injured wolf for the trip. Nate felt obscurely relieved that the flight wasn't only for his and Bo's benefit; legitimately injured Marines were also being carried to safety. Nate stepped into the isolation unit and sat down again just as he had been before--it was getting harder to keep still, but the isolation unit only had room for one of them to pace. Nate left it to Bo.

Whitmer half-shouted, "See you soon, Nate. Bo." Astra gave the wolf equivalent of goodbye, pushing his name to both of them-- _forest underbrush in summer_ , a world away from Afghanistan.

Nate just nodded, unable to find words. Bo gave her name back to Astra with an edge of anticipation Nate could taste on the back of his tongue.

Whitmer sealed them in and Nate put his head down on his knees. He heard the ramp lift up, and when the plane started rolling forward Bo forced her way under his arm, hiding her head against his chest and bracing her body against his. Like all wolves, she was deeply suspicious of aircraft, although, like most, she was willing to mostly ignore the situation after take-off as long as Nate stayed calm. Nate looked up to see how the injured wolf and his brother were coping and was surprised to see that the whole group he'd seen before was still gathered around the transport stretcher. There were four men and four wolves across from Nate. One man had his arm splinted, but none of the others, wolves or men, showed any sign of serious wounds.

The injured pair weren't brothers, so that accounted for half of them--neither man nor wolf would be cas-evaced without his brother, outside the very direst of circumstances--but it took Nate a moment to realize what the other two pairs were doing there. Bo got it first. Distracted though she was, she'd gotten the smell of all four wolves and their brothers when they came in, identified them and placed them in the org chart of the 15th MEU that she carried around in her head as a cloud of scents and bonds and hierarchies of pack-relationships.

They were a recon team--in Bo's parlance, _Sandy's pack, but not his pack-within-the-pack_. Sandy was brother to Rudy Reyes, and Nate had worked out with Rudy back on the _Dubuque_ while Bo played hunting and stalking games with Sandy and some of the other recon wolves. None of these four had been among them, but Bo had picked up enough of their associations to know where they fit and who they belonged to.

Recon teams were packs-within-packs, and came closer to being recognized officially as such than any other grouping of wolves and men in the Marine Corps. The pack-sense among them was so tight that--even in a group like the one Nate was looking at, consisting of four dog wolves--the men of the team rarely had to speak out loud to one another. People said that on a recon team men and wolves forgot who their brothers were; they were all brothers to each other. Nate was reasonably certain that was just one of those exaggerations about recon--he'd spent enough time around Rudy and Sandy to be pretty sure they knew they were bonded to each other and not the rest of their team--but the fact remained that they worked together more, and more independently, than any other small unit in the Corps. And they were being cas-evaced as a unit, even though two of the man-and-wolf pairs appeared to be perfectly healthy.

They were safely in the air by the time Nate had worked it out. The recon team stayed closely huddled around each other, lending silent physical support, but seemed as unfazed by take-off as recon Marines always seemed about everything. Bo pushed away from him and started pacing again, and Nate reached back toward the platoon through the pack-sense to see if they were still connected. He'd never done effective-range tests with Bo while airborne.

The next man he contacted gave him a startled burst of pride when Nate reached out-- _LT's got our backs at 30,000 feet!_ \--and Nate grinned as he buried his face in his knees and worked through the rest of the platoon, just quick touches of minds. It was more for his own reassurance than theirs, he knew; they were still his platoon, and they would still be his platoon when he got back no matter what else happened. His and Bo's.

The last few men were harder to reach, but Nate made it through all of them and then forced himself to let his awareness of them fade, to stop testing the link until it became useless. If he didn't try to reach out to them it would be like they were still right there.

Nate lifted his head and realized that Bo had stopped pacing and was standing at the front of the isolation unit with her nose pressed to the plastic, her breath fogging it up. The nearest of the four recon wolves, a big classic northern wolf with a solid white coat, had craned his head to look at her from where he sat between his brother's feet.

He and Bo were obviously communicating through pack-sense--the sense of the great pack, the wolf Corps. Bo had learned pretty early on not to go around attempting to subsume every wolf she met and liked into her own pack--and recon wolves certainly weren't going to let her try it--but unlike the goddamn radios, wolves were almost always able to talk to other wolves. Nate scooted closer to Bo and realized her hackles were up. He reached for her sense of the white wolf and caught the anger she was projecting; instead of putting her impatience into pacing, she was channeling it into a wish to savage whoever had hurt the injured wolf and man.

Nate caught the edge of the white wolf's answer, a good-natured invitation to her to come along and fight beside them any time she wasn't busy babysitting her grunts. Nate got the wolf's cheerfully mocking image of Nate and Bo's infantry platoon as an enormous litter of puppies all scrambling around Bo's feet.

It would have been funny another time, and even if it wasn't funny it was no more than anyone would expect from a recon wolf. But today was different, and Bo snarled and pushed back an image of the courage of her platoon, their willingness to do whatever they were ordered. The scouts--recon--were only part of the pack. Bo's platoon followed and finished the hunt.

The white wolf's mouth opened in a grin, and he tilted his head--not offering his throat, quite, but not guarding himself from her either.

Bo, mollified as much as she could be in this mood, snapped her teeth and turned away to pace again.

The white wolf didn't look away from her, though, and his brother's hand settled on his head.

Nate glanced up at the man's face, and he offered Nate a half-smile, warm and understanding. There was no missing why Nate and Bo were on the plane, after all. Then the white wolf's brother looked down at him, and the wolf heaved a visible sigh and settled his head on his brother's thigh, his connection to Bo suddenly, sharply attenuated. The man gave Nate one last look--his eyes were a startlingly bright blue in his grimy face--and nodded firmly. He knew what had just happened as well as Nate did, and in the space of a single look he'd convinced his brother to stop antagonizing Bo.

Nate nodded back and then turned ninety degrees so that he didn't have to watch the team all huddling together. Bo paced. Nate closed his eyes and waited.

* * *

By the time they reached the _Peleliu_ \--after another carefully supervised transfer from one isolation unit to another when they changed from the C-130 to a helicopter, with the recon team somewhere out of sight the entire time--Bo seemed to have forgotten the white wolf's insult. Even as the chopper dropped toward the deck, she was lying pressed against Nate, nose to the plastic, obsessively picturing how she would join the recon team in destroying their enemies.

The white wolf didn't actually look at her, but Nate could feel him responding, offering up minor details of setting, giving her the smell of the hills where they'd carried out their mission, the outlines of the fight they'd run into--not enough, Nate hoped, to violate OpSec now that it was over.

 _Don't worry_ , came a calm, human answer, and Nate glanced up to meet the eyes of the white wolf's brother. _He knows better than that._

Nate nodded acknowledgement--of course he did--and then the chopper touched down and Bo was sitting up, impatient to get on with this. The recon team was already in motion, but the white wolf offered his name to Bo by way of good-bye-- _cold salt water rising wave on wave over dry sand_. Bo gave back _a cool shadowed place in the midst of the hot sand_ , and Nate grinned as they each added their brothers' names as an afterthought. The man's scent name was _ice on the ground after a storm_ which, like the scent name of just about every other human Marine Nate had met, seemed more suited to a wolfbrother than Nate's _fresh ink on a sun-warmed page_.

 _Colbert and Frost_ , the human voice added, a wolf's goodbye translated into words. Nate offered back _Fick and Bo_ right before a couple of hospitalmen approached to move him and Bo down to the heat-shack, and the link between them vanished in the rush of Bo's eagerness for what was coming next.

* * *

What actually came next was a backward entry to the heat-shack, through the decontamination showers in the entry area. They were normally used to get the heat-smell off anyone leaving while the breeding was still in progress; Nate had never actually been in one before.

"Delousing's standard in the mix right now," the hospitalman explained, while Nate stripped under the chemical spray, tossing his gear and clothes into a plastic bag. He assumed he'd get them back dry--probably even washed. He was back to the comforts of shipboard life for a day or two now.

Nate toweled off roughly--the towel came away brownish gray--and sat down on a paper-covered table. The hospitalman swabbed the inside of his left elbow, and Nate stared down in fascination at that square inch of genuinely clean skin until the needle slid in, which made Bo snarl and lunge toward the hospitalman from across the other side of the decon area.

"Belay that," Nate snapped, out loud and even more forcefully through their bond. Bo stopped short while Nate reminded her that this was normal. It was just like the blood test after they'd gotten back from libo in Australia, but Bo was a lot more on edge now than she'd been then. She stood right behind the hospitalman, growling continuously, until the vial was filled and the pressure bandage was in place. The hospitalman, obviously used to this, ignored her completely. As soon as he turned away from Nate she stalked over to the door of the heat-shack and stared imperiously at Nate until he joined her.

The heat-shack proper was nothing but a bare room with a padded floor. There were supply lockers and a door to the head at one end. They would stay here until Bo had gone into heat and come back out of it.

When the door closed behind them they were absolutely cut off from the pack-sense and all communication with other wolves and wolfbrothers. There weren't many of them aboard the _Peleliu_ with all the able-bodied Marines deployed, but total isolation was still a shock. Nate stood still with his feet braced, waiting for the yawning absence to become less obvious.

Bo trotted a quick circuit around the room and then stopped to try to lick the faint chemical residue from her paws, only to jerk her head up and sneeze at the taste. Nate got the same mouthful through their bond, and he headed quickly for the shower, switching on the spray and stepping under it even before he'd checked the temperature. They throttled the temperature in heat-shacks, so you couldn't scald yourself, and Nate wouldn't complain about a cold shower right now.

He rinsed his mouth out even though he hadn't actually gotten anything in it, then grabbed the bottle of all-purpose soap. It was the standard stuff, acceptable for both species. It was as near as possible to scentless, pH balanced and not-antibacterial so you could use it to wash as far inside as you could reach. Further, if you dug a kit out of the supply locker, but Nate had never been quite that obsessive about his prepping.

Nate dumped some soap on the top of his head and started scrubbing his hair and then his face; he made it to the backs of his ears before Bo stopped being satisfied with just curling herself around his legs to get under the spray and demanded _Me too_.

Nate rinsed, and then bent over Bo and started scrubbing soap into her short fur, watching the sand-and-shadow brindled pattern reappear under his hands as the dust washed out. She and Strider had kept themselves and each other as clean as they could, but there was only so much you could do out there. Between the caked-on grime and the fresh layer of chemical cleanser, Bo stood happily still while Nate lathered, rinsed, and repeated, moving from her head to her tail one hand-width at a time. Then she flipped over and lay on her back, long legs waving in the air. She took up nearly the entire floor of the shower, and looked up at Nate with a tongue-lolling grin.

Nate rolled his eyes, but scrubbed her belly and legs and feet, too. When Bo considered herself sufficiently clean she said _Now you, you smell_ and accompanied the words with a brief, horrifying blast of exactly how Nate smelled to her. She bolted out of the shower and shook off water just outside while Nate was still trying to get back to his own mercifully limited senses.

Nate started over, washing his hair and face again--nobody had been even trying to lick him clean since the first week, when Bo gave up on him. He wanted a shave more than anything, but there were no razors in heat-shacks. He'd have to ask, if there was time. For now he washed everywhere else, carefully and thoroughly.

When he finally shut the water off, he found Bo standing just outside the shower with a folded towel in her mouth. He couldn't help smiling as he took it from her.

* * *

The hospitalman who brought him the razor--with the obvious intention of staying to watch him use it--also had clippers. Nate nodded to the unspoken offer and said, "Guess I could use a trim, too."

Nate sat down sideways on the toilet to have his hair cut, hands folded primly on top of the towel he had around his waist.

As he got started, one finger on top of Nate's head to keep him still, the hospitalman said, "That's not much of a boot scar you've got there."

Nate glanced down without moving his head; at this angle he could just barely see the tattoo below his left collarbone. The hospitalman had already seen every inch of Nate's skin, so he'd know it was the only one. Nate considered it the bare minimum for a wolfbrother: a copy of Bo's ID mark, about an inch and a half on a side. It consisted of the Eagle, Globe, and Anchor with her serial number underneath and her name above.

Nate shrugged his shoulders as much as he dared. "Is it even a boot scar if it's not embarrassing?"

"Only you can say," the hospitalman agreed. "The question is, does it mean your sister's such a terror you never even tried for more?"

The classic boot scar, of course, was a huge unfinished tattoo--outlined but never colored in, or just obviously cut off in the middle. Young Marines would flood into tattoo parlors during or just after boot camp, with their half-grown brothers on their heels. They could usually control their wolves enough to get started--no one would make it through boot camp if he couldn't reconcile his wolf to the pain he was in--but sooner or later, without his platoon around him or a DI standing over him keeping him focused, it was easy for a Marine's concentration to slip. And once a Marine's brother tried to bite a tattoo artist, he'd have an extremely difficult time getting his tattoo finished by anyone, anywhere.

"It took about fifteen minutes," Nate said. "She was ten months old, a hundred and ten pounds, and I had to hold her on my lap to keep her still. She growled the whole time like she did when you took my blood. After that I figured discretion was the better part of valor."

The hospitalman chuckled and shifted his free hand to the back of Nate's neck, and Nate bowed his head to let him get at the back. Neither of them said anything more until the hospitalman brushed the little hairs off Nate's skin, squeezed his shoulder and stepped around to face him. "Let me see your hands, Lieutenant."

Nate offered them up, and the hospitalman tucked the clippers under his armpit, pulled a metal file out of his pocket, and took the worst of the edges off Nate's ragged nails. Nate winced and nodded his appreciation.

The hospitalman just twisted Nate's fingers this way and that, scrutinizing his own work, and then said, "I know you're not going to use the gloves because no one ever uses the fucking gloves, but this way you probably won't draw blood."

Nate nodded again. He thought about being shamed or scared into using the damn gloves, and gave up immediately. It was true: no one ever used the gloves. The hospitalman squeezed Nate's fingers once and then walked away, and it wasn't until he was already halfway back to the door that Nate realized that the next person to touch him was going to be the brother of whatever wolf they put to Bo.

Nate stepped back into the shower for a minute, to make sure he had all the hair off. When he was dry again he sat down in the exact center of the floor with yet another towel wrapped around his waist. He had no clothes in the heat shack, but he wasn't going to go naked until he had to. Bo kept pacing like--well, like a caged animal--and when he couldn't stand watching her anymore he let her feel his nervousness. She broke off her patrol to press up against his back, nuzzling over his fresh haircut. Nate let himself lean into her until she had to move again.

* * *

There was a depressingly plentiful supply of bitch pudding in 400-calorie packets, right next to the shelf full of lube in 12-ounce squeeze bottles. Nate made himself eat--butterscotch, but at least it wasn't that vile mint chip experimental flavor they'd distributed samples of in the spring. Nate squinted at the manufacturer's code on the end of the packet, and realized that that was because the pudding was six years old.

Well, of course it was. It didn't go bad, and the supply had probably been sitting in this supply locker undisturbed ever since it was stocked. Heat-shacks on ships were used a lot more for isolating bitches during heat-suppression than for actual breeding, and if there wasn't going to be any breeding there weren't any dietary restrictions.

Nate eating reminded Bo that she was hungry, so he grabbed a wolf MRE from the next locker and flipped it to her, letting her have the satisfaction of tearing it open herself. The outside was paperboard--just fiber, if she swallowed any of it--and the inside wrapper was some kind of plastic made from corn, likewise. But all the wolves were a little offended by the suggestion that they'd accidentally swallow part of the packaging instead of the food. _We don't eat fur, either_ , Bo had informed him, when she was six months old and had killed all of three of her own meals in her entire life. As she pointed out, that was three more than Nate had killed, at the advanced age of twenty-two.

She snapped up the MRE--rabbit-flavored--in three bites and then went back to pacing. Nate gathered up the packaging and fitted the pieces back together just to see, but, as always, the whole box and bag could be reassembled from the shredded remains.

Nate watched her for a moment, feeling the same tension humming in his muscles, and then sighed and stood. He dropped his towel. Even if it was the only semblance of clothing he had, it was never going to stay on while he did yoga.

The guys who worked out with Rudy had mostly called it "stretching", or just "working out" after the first time Rudy made them all hold some brutal pose until they fell over while Rudy was still balanced on one foot critiquing their breathing, but it was yoga. Good for flexibility. Rudy said it was supposed to be calming, too. Nate was sure as hell going to need both.

He started with ordinary stretches, and then tried to remember the sequence of poses Rudy had put them through--he'd switched it up to keep them on their toes, but it always seemed logical, building from one stretch to the next, until they were limber enough to twist themselves into pretzel shapes. Holding poses was the hardest part--he had the strength to keep his arms outstretched or his weight poised on one leg, but it was brutally hard to hold still. Bo circled endlessly and the same urge pounded in his blood, his dick was half-hard and swinging free, and--

Nate breathed in, counted four, breathed out, repeated. Moved on to the next pose. There was nothing else for it. It was going to take as long as it was going to take. He might as well be warmed up for it.

Bo thought longingly of Sandy's stalking games, the chases that had wound through the lower decks, making wolfless sailors jump out of their way, leaping up ladders and scrambling down them.

Nate kept breathing and holding still until he couldn't anymore, and then he fell flat on the padded floor. His sweat started to cool on his skin, and he thought about showering again to warm up, or at least about drying off, but he didn't want to move. His arms and legs felt pleasantly used, and he was still breathing and counting.

Bo trotted over and threw herself down on the floor beside him--nearly on top of him. _You're getting cold._

Nate rolled onto his side, throwing an arm and a leg over Bo, pressing his face to the fur at the back of her neck. _Keep me warm while I take a nap?_

Bo huffed, but she stayed. After a while she slept, or Nate thought she did, thought they both did. In dreams they hunted together in the hills north of Lashkar Gah, and Nate could run as fast as she could.

* * *

Bo shook him off, and the walls of the heat-shack snapped back into place, the lights brightening automatically at the first sign of motion. Bo just stood over him, shaking, unable even to pace to relieve the building tension. Nate sighed and rolled onto his back. He stared up at the lights and resisted the urge to jerk off one last time while it would just feel good. It would only frustrate Bo.

He got up and went to the head instead, turned the shower on to a suggestive trickle, and spent five minutes willing his erection to subside enough to let him take a piss. He took a shit, which required nearly as much concentration, and then turned the shower on full blast, as hot as it would go, and washed again.

It already felt different. This was the _has it started yet?_ stage, though Nate knew for sure now that it was true what they'd said in training. When it really started, he'd stop asking that. He'd know.

All the same, he was already hard, already wanting, and a year after the fact it was almost impossible to credit the memory of how different it was going to be. A couple of hours from now he was going to be harder, want it more, than he could imagine now. When he pressed two soapy fingers into his ass, the sting of opening himself made his dick jump.

It wasn't enough--couldn't be enough--pretty soon nothing would be enough, even if--

Nate gritted his teeth and yanked his fingers free, dumped more soap onto them and then contorted himself into the familiar posture, one foot braced on the ladder of grip-strips on the wall, bending low to turn his ass up as he pushed his soapy fingers back inside. He moved them fast, ignoring the tease of it, ignoring how much he wanted to add a third finger, a fourth, ignoring the little voice in his head that said he might as well get all he could now because there wasn't going to be enough (wasn't going to be _anything_ good) later.

Nate closed his eyes, breathed in, counted four, breathed out. It wasn't going to be like last year. There was a war on, now. Bo would get with the program.

Nate realized he was just rocking his fingers back and forth in his ass and got back to washing up, rinsing as best he could. He scrubbed his hands, after, even though his ass was logically just about as clean at this point, and then he shut the water off, swiped a towel over himself, and headed back to the storage locker for the lube.

Bo was where he'd left her, lying six feet from the entrance door and staring at it, ears pricked forward. He could see her breathing from here, deep and fast. It wasn't going to be long now until she popped.

Nate lay down on the floor and folded himself--more easily than last year, he thought, he'd have to thank Rudy for that--into a position where he could reach his ass without having his dick in his face more than necessary. He slicked his fingers--three, right off the bat, because they were getting close now and he had to be ready.

Three fingers burned more than it stung, and it was enough to make Bo reach a little of her awareness toward him.

 _Shh,_ Nate told her. _It's all right. Wait._ He twisted and flexed his fingers, trying to think slick, open, relaxed thoughts, trying to think about being ready and not think about--anything else. He dug the fingers of his free hand into his thigh to keep his hand off his dick.

It hit him like a swamping wave, and for a second Nate couldn't breathe; he felt like he was drowning, and some part of him was panicking while the rest just got washed away. He was aware, from a long way off, that his hand had started moving faster, that his wrist hurt, but even that didn't bring him back to himself. Bo's low, hungry growl did.

Nate jerked his hand free--a mistake, he wanted, he _needed_ , he was so empty and so, so ready--and closed his fist against the floor.

"Observer," Nate called out, his voice sounding raw in his own ears, like he'd already been screaming for hours. "We are Alpha Hotel."

"Affirmative," came a neutral voice from the ceiling. "This is your five minute warning."

Nate sobbed in relief and desperation--five minutes, that was fast, that was really good, he'd had to wait so much longer last time--and oh god five _minutes_ , how was he supposed to wait _five minutes_? He rolled over onto his knees, getting up on all fours. That felt better, being in almost the same posture as Bo, letting the sensations align the way they wanted to, like magnets snapping into place. For what came next he could be just a wolf's brother--almost a wolf himself. Almost.

Nate grabbed the bottle of lube again, slicked his fingers and sunk them back in, twisting viciously, fast. He remembered, like it had happened to someone else, that when he'd first gotten fucked--after OCS, when he thought he was practicing for this, thought he knew what this could be--that used to make his dick go soft. Now it made him harder, his dick pressed flush to his belly, dripping onto the floor. He remembered that it hadn't always been like this, but he couldn't remember what it had felt like. That _had_ happened to someone else. That college kid, he hadn't been Bo's brother, and now Nate was nothing but an extension of his sister's need.

"This is your one minute warning," said the observer's voice, and Nate yanked his hand free and slapped it down, slick and wet, to take its share of his weight. He was classically positioned, ass to the door, so he had to turn his head to look at Bo.

She was on her feet now, eager--so blindly sure this was going to work that for a few seconds Nate was sure, too. He grinned in anticipation, waiting and wanting.

The door opened.

The change in Bo hurt like a body blow--exactly, actually, like being hit in the balls. It washed him out of the mindlessness of heat and into the necessity of being rational and human and calm while his sister wasn't. It had hurt like this last year, too--worse every time, all eight times in those three endless hours.

The ninth time, Nate thought, the ninth time was maybe the worst.

The wolf wasn't all the way in the door, and Bo had already shifted gears from _yes want need_ to _No. Hostile._ Her head was lowered, tail straight out, and the low thrumming growl of her anticipation rose into a snarl. The wolf lunged at her, a dark gray blur--the scent of her didn't change just because she'd decided the wolf was an intruder to be fought off rather than a potential mate--and that was all Nate had time to see before the gray wolf's brother was on him. He kicked Nate's knees a little further apart and dropped into place behind him.

Nate got an uninformative glimpse as the man moved toward him--tan skin that might be from the sun or might not, short black hair salted with gray, clean shaven face, wiry black hair everywhere else, no tattoos, boot scars or otherwise, that Nate could spot at a glance. His cock was hard already, condom in place and shiny with lube.

Nate felt Bo dodge away from the gray wolf and then leap at him, nothing playful in her aspect, not even a chance of submission. But the gray wolf didn't feel what Nate was feeling, and neither did his brother; there was no pack-sense shared among them, and Bo wouldn't go to the effort of making contact with a wolf she'd categorized as hostile, not when there was a fight to be had. Nate was trembling with the effort of keeping still, and he was still hard, still slick and wet and open. He was making himself vulnerable to this total stranger ( _hostile_ ) behind him, leaving himself helpless and exposed and not doing anything about it while his sister was flooding him with the need to turn, fight, defend himself, drive off his attacker.

Nate gritted his teeth. He'd been through this before. It wouldn't last long. Fighting wouldn't help, no matter how Bo felt about it. The man at his back wasn't his enemy.

As if to prove the point, the man at Nate's back pressed closer to him--his cock pressed hot and slick against the cheek of Nate's ass--and ran a hand up and down Nate's spine. Nate dropped his head automatically. That gesture appeared on a lot of the training videos, a universal reassurance that didn't require anyone to summon words. Words were usually in short supply in the heat-shack. So either the guy at his back had seen the same training videos Nate had, or that was the same everywhere, and either way maybe Nate had nothing special to worry about. Just the usual.

Bo was snarling, teeth snapping, and the other wolf was an unnerving absence every time Nate tried to reach through her to get a sense of what was happening. Nate had last year's experience with Bo to go on, and judging by the reaction he'd gotten from BreedCom it was somewhere between freakish and completely unique. The gray wolf wouldn't have figured it out yet. He still thought this was just Bo fighting to get an impression of him, because she wasn't quite ready to yield herself yet. He wouldn't realize that Bo was never going to yield.

As it had eight times before it occurred to Nate that he should warn the wolf's brother, and as he had six times before Nate clenched his teeth and all but held his breath to resist the urge. He'd only sound panicked, scared of getting fucked. Inexperienced. The man behind him settled his hand on the nape of Nate's neck, leaning further over him now. He was waiting, Nate knew. Most of them had waited, last year. He wanted the double-sensation, fucking into Nate for the first time as his brother entered Bo.

Nate had been told that felt fucking amazing, from either side, but all he'd ever gotten in the heat-shack was this dislocation, holding himself still while Bo got ever more frantic, fighting off the wolf who'd been put to her. The man behind him started pressing more of his weight against Nate's back as Bo and the gray wolf proceeded across the heat-shack in a series of lunges and dodges and quickly-broken pounces.

The gray wolf didn't want to hurt her, and Bo wanted only to get rid of him so she could get on with being in heat. Neither of them was trying to draw blood yet, but there was only so much room to push each other around the heat-shack. Something was going to have to give.

Nate let his elbows buckle, and the guy controlled his pressure enough to let Nate fold his face down to the floor rather than being shoved down. Nate appreciated that, on some distant, intellectual level. He let his forehead press into the padded floor as the hand on the back of his neck tightened. He breathed, counting to four. He reminded himself again that the man on his back wasn't his enemy, despite his weight holding Nate down now that Nate had given up his leverage, despite the animal-rough sound of his breathing, despite the way he rocked his hips, rubbing his cock against Nate's ass and ignoring the fact that Nate wasn't reciprocating.

Five minutes ago Nate had wanted nothing more than to reciprocate--he still wanted it so bad it hurt, a throbbing pain in his cock, an empty ache in his ass. He just wanted to fight back even more, and couldn't let himself move at all while keeping control of himself. They couldn't quite hold what Bo did against him, later. What he did himself would be a whole other question.

Nate wasn't watching what Bo was doing. He didn't need to; he could feel nothing but her fury and her still-unshaken confidence, now transferred to a certainty of driving off this intruder. Nate wasn't really sure about that, because Bo wasn't even three years old--and tall as she was, her desert blood gave her a racer's build, light and fast but without the weight to stand steady against a wolf using his mass to bear her down. She also lacked the insulating undercoat which would give her some protection against teeth and claws.

On the other hand, she was an alpha bitch in a blind, wild rage which none of the eight wolves at Pendleton last year had seemed able to anticipate or withstand.

Nate had to try _something_ , so he pushed into his bond with Bo, trying to reach her through the flood of feeling coming from her to him, her heat and her fury. If Bo received anything from him Nate had no idea what; he was lost, instantly, in the wash of feeling from her, let in by his effort to reach out. He couldn't keep still anymore, giving vent to a growl like Bo's as he pushed himself up, twisting--

And was smashed right back down to the floor, his left wrist grabbed and twisted up behind him. After the first blinding starburst, the pain radiating through his head gave him a little breathing space, enough that he knew better than to struggle. The gray wolf's brother was no more in control of himself than Nate had been for those few seconds; he had no reason to even try to resist his brother's influence. If Nate pushed him again he'd push back harder--just the same as the gray wolf would, if--

There was a pained-wolf sound, not from Bo, and Nate fought enough to get his head pointed the other way before he got punched in the kidney. The gray wolf's face was half red now, blood dripping from a vicious gash. He was circling warily, but Nate couldn't see any sign of surrender on him, and Nate realized that something had gotten through from him to his sister after all. She knew he'd been hurt. She wasn't going to settle for driving this wolf off, now. She wanted to kill him.

The gray wolf's injury wasn't enough to automatically halt the breeding--he hardly seemed to have noticed it, though his brother's grip on Nate was punishingly hard now. His cock jabbing at Nate's ass felt more like a threat than a promise.

Nate couldn't reach Bo. He didn't want to know what would happen if he opened himself up to her again and started fighting, but he suspected it could go a long way without getting him out of here, and it would only make Bo angrier and more dangerous. He had to go through humans for this.

"Call it," Nate gasped into the floor. It was automatic to ask first. It would be better, after, if both of them _agreed_ the breeding had had to be stopped. It had to be stopped. Bo would never give in, but every second they waited was another second when she might seriously injure the gray wolf, or drive him to hurt her.

"Fuck that," the man on his back huffed, the words accented but clear enough that Nate couldn't mistake them. Nate gritted his teeth, but Bo snarled in answer.

That meant he did speak English, and on the heels of recognizing that Nate remembered what else Captain Whitmer had told him, when he told Nate that the other guy might not. _Don't stand on ceremony. Keep yourselves safe._

They wouldn't get safely back to their platoon anytime soon if Bo succeeded in actually killing this wolf and Nate just kept his mouth shut and let her.

Nate drew in as deep a breath as he could get, and then yelled out, " _Abort!_ "

It was like squeezing the trigger and seeing the hole appear in the target. The word was barely out of his mouth before he heard the door bang open behind him, and barely separate from that sound was the thump of a tranquilizer dart hitting flesh. The man on his back was startled enough by what Nate had done to let him pick his head up. Nate watched Bo watching as the gray wolf snapped at the dart in his flank, staggered, and fell. Bo bared her teeth at the open door, but she knew enough to know that she couldn't argue when armed men robbed her of her prey.

The moment the gray wolf dropped into unconsciousness--taking the imperative of a bitch in heat with him--his brother let go of Nate completely and jumped to his feet. Nate stayed where he was, with his ass in the air and his head on the floor, because it was easier than trying to coordinate himself to move in any direction at all. He saw more legs come into his field of vision, fully-clothed men gathering around the fallen gray wolf. Bo closed the distance separating her from Nate in a single powerful leap, and placed herself squarely between him and everyone else in the heat-shack.

Nate shut his eyes for a second, letting himself believe he was actually hidden behind his wolf. Her feelings were scrambled by this turn of events--heat and rage both muted by confusion and shock at the intrusion--which gave Nate just enough mental breathing room to fully realize what had just happened. They'd failed again. If he just kept his eyes shut, if he only shook where no one could see, he'd be all right in a minute. By the time Bo was up to realizing what he was feeling, he'd have it under control.

He barely heard the exit door close, but he felt the change in Bo instantly, and raised his head as she raised hers. The gray wolf and his brother--and as much of the watch team as necessary to carry the wolf--were gone. Their smells lingered in the air, but Bo was full of a sense of triumph--her adversary had had to be carried away, while she stayed in possession of her territory. Nate pushed up onto all fours and looked around her--he couldn’t see over her without straightening up--toward the still-open entrance door.

A Marine was standing there, and that wasn't right--should have been Navy, there were hardly any Marines on the ship--but Nate realized he recognized the man. He was a recon Marine. Without his wolf, Nate was missing half the characteristics he'd usually use to identify a Marine, but the name came back to him after a few seconds of mute staring.

"Sergeant Colbert," Nate said aloud. He might be on all fours, naked and hard and panting with adrenaline and unrelieved lust, with his cheek pressed to Bo's shoulder like a kid with a puppy, but he was still a Marine officer. He could address a Marine properly.

Colbert nodded and stepped about six inches inside, pulling the entrance door shut behind him. Bo recognized him, or, in the absence of Colbert's brother, at least recognized that Nate recognized him. Or maybe it was just that the entrance door was closed and she knew no one else was coming in for a while. Whatever her reason, she relaxed and trotted away from Nate, returning to her restless pacing.

Nate tipped sideways and managed to end up sitting in a position that sort of halfway shielded his dick from Colbert's eyes, although he was on watch at the heat-shack and had to know what to expect. He was bound to have done it all before, though on the other side of the equation.

"You all right, sir?" Colbert asked evenly, the first words Nate had ever heard him actually speak out loud. "Do you need a corpsman?"

Nate shook his head, though he raised one hand to prod at the spot near his hairline where his head had hit the floor. "I aborted for their safety, not ours."

Colbert looked over at Bo, and Nate was suddenly overwhelmed with the taste of blood in her mouth. Without following Colbert's gaze he knew she'd just ostentatiously licked blood from her muzzle, showing off. Colbert smiled a little and nodded to her, and then looked back to Nate.

"I can see you've got all the help you need, sir," he said, and with a last nod he headed toward the exit door.

Bo intercepted him on the way there, and Colbert stopped when she moved into his path, spreading his hands and standing still.  
Nate was motionless too, barely able to breathe through the sudden _focus_ of Bo's heat--every inch of his skin went hot, his dick throbbing with the suddenly frantic beat of his heart.

Bo _wanted_. There was a new male-wolf smell, and Bo traced it to the hip of Colbert's trousers and named it-- _cold salt water rising wave on wave over dry sand_. Frost.

"That's right where he was while we ate dinner," Colbert said in a conversational tone, while her muzzle, still blood-flecked, tracked inward from his hip, across his thigh, down between his knees to the tops of his boots. Nate gritted his teeth, not letting himself pant, his hands in fists against the padded floor as he shivered with want. Colbert's voice sounded far away and impossibly calm. "Never realized we needed to go through decon on the way in, too."

Nate shut his eyes and pictured what she was smelling and Colbert was saying: Colbert sitting at the mess table just like he'd sat on the C-130, with his pale wolf between his legs, head laid across his thigh, nose to his hip. In the mess it would have been a convenient way for Frost to receive bits of anything interesting that Colbert was eating.

Bo wanted Frost with an intensity that went beyond words, beyond reason, but underneath it--even as the wanting made him want to writhe, even as his toes curled into the floor and his hips rocked minutely against the floor, not getting friction anywhere near where he wanted it--Nate could pick out the org chart she always carried around in her head. He could feel her tracing out the connections between herself and Frost, as if to say, _Yes, he's ours, yes, that one_.

That had to be important, but Nate couldn't really think beyond the rush of feeling. _Yes, yes, yes, want._

Nate opened his eyes and looked at Colbert, who stood there looking down at Bo with an unreadable expression. He was a recon Marine. It wasn't like he was a sailor or airman, and might actually be intimidated by a wolf. He knew he could get past her and he wasn't trying.

He knew she was a bitch in heat who hadn't been bred. He knew she was smelling his brother and taking an interest. He'd been on watch, so he knew this was a solo, without an alternate to usher in now that the initial attempt had been refused.

He had to know where this could be going. He wasn't making any kind of objection.

On the other hand, watch teams didn't bring their brothers anywhere near the heat-shack. Frost could be anywhere on the ship. Colbert could be telling him to go overboard and swim for shore. Bo caught that thought and _whined_ , her hips hunching, and Nate's whole body curled with the same impulse.

Colbert looked over at Nate, looking worried for the first time. Without Frost to relay, Brad couldn't hear Bo or Nate even if Bo wanted him to; he didn't know what thought had upset her.

"Colbert," Nate said, and then couldn't find the next word to say, to even try to make this happen.

Colbert nodded seriously, seeming not to notice that Nate was naked and shaking with heat and nearly past words. "Brad, sir, if that makes this easier."

Nate didn't try to smile back, didn't say _you don't have to call me sir_. That would go by the wayside fast enough if they got Frost in here.

"Brad," Nate repeated, and groped for a question, any question to ask. He had to have words for this, not feelings, not wanting and needing and begging for it. Brad was a Marine, he'd understand, but--there, that was a question. That was a start.

Nate squinted in concentration. "What the hell are recon Marines doing standing guard at a shipboard heat-shack?"

Brad smiled slightly, and Nate bit down hard on his lip to stop himself from smiling back, wanting to bite that smile, wanting to roll over for it. "Three of the four men on my team are considered fit for wolfless duty. We got drafted. We were told there was a Marine bitch going into heat with high odds of needing some kind of intervention, and they thought Marines might handle it better."

The thought was like a bucket of cold water. Nate had a sudden vision of what it might have been like if he'd yelled out the abort and the door had opened on whatever sailors had drawn watch duty today. They might never have seen a breeding on shipboard, let alone seen one go wrong. They could easily have been as scared of Bo as they were of anything else in the room. Nate closed his eyes in silent gratitude.

"Is anyone else," Nate said, forcing the words out. He couldn't be selfish even though he could hardly think of anything but what he wanted from Brad, what Bo wanted from Frost. "Right now, are there any other Marines?"

"Just you, sir," Colbert said. His voice was steady and calm and it already felt like hands on Nate, a soothing-teasing touch everywhere, not just the token palm up and down his spine. "When we're done here we go back to twiddling our thumbs in the infirmary, waiting to be cleared to return to the field. They want to keep us a couple of days at least."

Colbert was going out of his way to tell Nate what he needed to hear: he and Frost weren't needed anywhere for the next forty-eight hours. Nate and Bo wouldn't get in the way of their combat readiness.

Nate took a breath and tried to think through the breeding selection principles he'd been taught years ago. They'd all seemed self-evident at the time and now he was wishing there was a goddamn mnemonic acronym for them. His fingernails were filed down too far to dig into his palms. He put his hands together, instead, pinching down hard on the first joint of his finger to get enough pain to focus.

"Frost," Nate said, almost steadily. "His bloodline?"

"The Corps got him in an exchange of pups with the UK," Brad replied promptly. "His mother is SAS. They made me learn his lineage back to the Norman Conquest, sir, but I can tell you that it's all English and Scandinavian as far back as you can get. He doesn't even have any of the Lend-Lease bloodlines."

"Bo's out of Ripley," Nate returned, and that was automatic, lineage for lineage; he didn't have to think about it at all. "Her matrilineage is all Saudi blood."

Brad raised his eyebrows and looked down at Bo again, and Nate looked too, trying to see her the way a stranger would, not letting familiarity blind him. Bo had naturally short, sleek fur and a lean desert build that made her look gaunt next to northern-blooded wolves. She was brindled, the color of sand and shadow-on-sand, built for a desert war back when no one had been sure when or if they'd be fighting another one.

"Her father's line is pure USMC back twenty generations," Nate added, for the sake of completeness, and Brad looked up from Bo to him and nodded.

Nate shut his eyes and tried to summon up a clear memory of the gray wolf, his body type, the way he'd moved. He seemed more or less on the same model as Frost--big and built for cold weather.

"I compared bloodlines with Smoke's brother while he was waiting to come in," Brad said, and Nate opened his eyes, startled to have Brad almost reading his thoughts despite the claustrophobic absence of pack-sense. "He's Aussie, but the wolf is British, just like Frost--almost the same age. I asked because he had the same look. They cross bloodlines about three times in the last eight generations just in their matrilineage, which is as far as we got before it was time. There's a reason the Brits do so many exchanges."

Blood relationship meant that Frost was an even better than average substitute for the gray wolf. Good. That solved the wolves. He and Brad were hardly more difficult to work out.

Brad would have had the standard STD screen at the end of libo, the same as everyone else--and Nate felt there was no cause to doubt the conventional wisdom that recon Marines were even less likely than the rest of the Corps to go looking for untested strangers between liberties. A pre-breeding quick test would have been even more a formality for him than it had been for Nate.

Brad was a recon Marine and Nate was with the 1/1. While they both belonged to the 15th MEU, he and Brad were nowhere near each other's chains of command. Nate had scarcely even met him before being cas-evaced.

Bo seemed to pick up that thought, of all things, because she offered Nate her memories of every time they'd crossed paths with Brad and Frost. They'd passed within a hundred feet of each other a few times in Camp Rhino and once in East Timor, nodded to each other in passing on libo in Australia, been separated by only a few men and wolves when they stood in the crowd waiting to return to their ships after the news came on September 11. _We know them_ , Bo insisted, even as she confirmed for Nate that they'd hardly have to see each other again if this went as wrong as everything else.

It couldn't go wrong, not again. Not this time. Nate realized he was running his short-trimmed fingernails down the inside of his thigh, shivering just from that slight sensation. He closed his hands on his knees and tried to focus on the other breeding criteria.

"Frost's been bred before?"

Brad nodded. His eyes stayed on Nate's, and Nate was torn between being glad and wondering what he'd have to do to get Brad to look lower. "We've been part of four Mike Bravos, sir. Confirmed paternity of a total of six pups, two of them officer-quality. All bonded successfully."

Frost's bloodline was proven. Not only was he good enough for recon, he was passing those traits on to his pups.  
Frost was a good match for Bo, and Bo _wanted_ him. If Nate didn't focus very carefully on logistics, he'd be completely swept away by how badly she wanted this, wanted him. Brad couldn't feel it because Frost wasn't in the heat-shack and couldn't be influenced by Bo's heat. Yet. For now Brad was just standing there calmly, watching Nate with his hands spread, waiting. If Nate wanted Brad to look, all he had to do was get Frost here.

Nate looked Brad in the eye. Brad tilted his head to the side. Acknowledgement. Waiting for Nate to make a call.

They didn't have to try this; they'd each done their duty tonight. Brad could leave, Nate could ride out a couple of days with Bo on suppressors, waiting for her heat to end unsatisfied, making do with his fingers and whatever he could improvise from the supply lockers until the need subsided. They'd go back to their platoon safe and sound for sure, and Brad would go back to his team.

Bo wanted this, and Nate had a chance to make this right for her, whatever had gone wrong the last nine times. Nate had a chance to get what _he_ wanted, what he needed, what he'd never had.

"Sergeant Colbert," Nate said, settling his hands on his knees and straightening his shoulders. "Could you ask your brother to come down to the heat-shack?"

Brad nodded and looked away from Nate, obviously reaching out through his bond with Frost. Deeper than pack-sense, the bond between man and wolf couldn't be blocked by the heat-shack walls. Brad's gaze went up; Frost must be on a higher deck. They'd have to wait while he negotiated the ladders.

Nate looked up, too, following Brad's gaze, and then remembered. You could never see where the cameras were in the heat shack, but he'd watched enough training videos to have internalized the high angle, and the observer's voice came from up there.

"Sergeant," Nate said, flexing his hands where they gripped his knees. "I could make it an order."

Brad raised an eyebrow and smiled a little, just like he had when Bo licked away blood. He knew what Nate meant; Nate could offer him cover, make this a matter of his order to an enlisted man. That would shield Brad from any culpability for the outcome.

"No need, sir. This is technically a field breeding, and Marines make do. Nobody's going to fault us for trying."

"In that case," Nate said, sighing, running his hands down his shins to grip his ankles, resisting the urge to pull his legs wide right now, wanting, wanting, wanting. "Nate. Not sir. No ranks in the heat-shack."

"Nate," Brad agreed, and Nate tipped over onto his side and wrapped his arms around his middle, making himself wait. He wouldn't have to talk anymore. Frost was coming.

 _Soon_ , he promised Bo silently. _He'll be here. Soon._

Bo trotted over to the entrance door and pressed her nose to the seal. Nate felt the same way, and his eyes tracked Brad as he moved past Bo to the supply lockers. Nate had to squirm over onto his stomach to keep Brad in view, and he couldn't resist rubbing his dick against the semi-softness of the floor once he was down.

Brad opened a locker and crouched down to unlace his boots. He was quick; Nate had barely coordinated himself enough to get his knees under him before Brad's feet were bare. He stood up and continued stripping, and Nate froze, watching. From far away he knew that now, on all fours and staring, he really did look like Bo at the door, bodies and interests perfectly aligned.

Brad was half-hard even without his brother around to be influenced by Bo's heat. _That's just for me_ , Nate thought, as Brad stripped out of his shirt and dropped it on top of his pants. He knew it ought to mean something to him, but all he could think was _yes, please, finally_. Nate leaned his weight heavily on his hands to keep from reaching for his own cock. Soon, now. Soon.

Brad turned away from Nate, crouching at a supply locker. Nate wanted to say they didn't need any more supplies--he was ready, he'd been ready for hours, and he'd definitely been ready ten minutes ago--but the words eluded him. He was distracted by the tattoo covering most of Brad's back.

It was the opposite of a boot scar; it must have taken hours. Hours upon hours of outlining and coloring--and it included a portrait of Frost, so it couldn't have been done before. Through all of it, Brad must have kept calm enough that his wolf never distracted the artist working on him, let alone trying to bite. The design crossed over his spine, spread across his ribs, and yet there wasn't an inch left unfilled; there was no sign at all that Brad had allowed his brother to interrupt the process. Brad had kept as cool then as he was now, patient and quiet.

 _Ice on the ground_. Nate understood what Frost had meant when he named Brad.

Brad turned around with a bottle of water tucked under his arm, a bottle of lube and box of condoms in his other hand. Nate's eyes moved down irresistibly to his cock--still half hard and still bare.

Nate wanted to help--he had a sudden visceral flash of it, sucking Brad hard, leaving him spit-wet and shiny, the cock in his mouth almost satisfying his need. He was upright on his knees as Brad came closer, reaching out, and then something cool and smooth smacked into his palm.

The bottle of water. Nate stared at it, jarred out of his last train of thought and unable to catch another.

"Drink up, Nate," Brad said, dropping to his knees facing Nate. He flashed a toothy smile. "I've got this."

Nate had to shut his eyes while he got the cap off--he couldn’t make his hands work and look at Brad at the same time. When he brought the bottle to his mouth he looked again. He stayed there, frozen with the bottle at his lips, because Brad was staring at him--not looking him in the eye, but finally, finally looking lower--and Brad's cheeks were going pink under his tan as he jerked himself to hardness.

Nate still wanted to help, but if Brad was going to watch, Nate didn't have to touch him to do his share.

Nate tilted his head back, getting his teeth into the neck of the bottle as he started drinking, and slid his left hand down to his cock.

Brad's eyes flicked up to his. Nate smiled around the bottle, kept drinking, and slid his open palm over his hard cock. He didn't have to exaggerate the way he shuddered at that touch, his eyes fluttering shut and then open again to watch Brad watching. Nate felt like he'd been hard forever, and he knew better than to really touch himself now, so close to getting what he actually wanted. Brad's eyes dropped to Nate's hand, and Brad's cock was noticeably harder when Nate looked down.

Nate shifted his stance, moving his knees farther apart, and dropped his hand to his balls. He nearly choked on his water, and at the sound Brad's hand faltered and he looked up at Nate's face again. Nate shook his head, tilted up the bottle again and closed his teeth on it to free both hands, and put his left hand behind his back.

He had to arch his back to get his fingers to his asshole, which changed the angle of the bottle pouring water into his mouth. It also made his cock jut out into the air more obviously, and, most importantly, made Brad's hand move faster. Brad's eyes half-closed but stayed intent on the space between Nate's legs; he didn't know what Brad could see, but he sunk his fingers into himself anyway, and he knew Brad saw the way it made his cock jump without a touch. The water bottle--empty, or nearly--fell from Nate's mouth as he crooked the fingers he had inside himself. He put his right hand on his thigh, digging his fingers in to keep from jerking himself off, keep from reaching from Brad, who was barely even arm's length away.

Brad was hard now, really truly hard, and Nate gasped, "Condom, come on."

Brad nodded and dropped down to sit on his heels. Nate stayed on his knees, still working his fingers in his ass, watching as Brad tore open the condom and rolled it on. He slicked himself with a quick stroke, hands starting to shake a little.

For a second after that Brad went still, looking toward the door, and Nate realized before he heard the door open that Brad had made Frost wait until Brad had a chance to get the condom on. That was smart, Nate thought--that was thoughtful, commendable--but then the door was opening and this was it.

Nate twisted to look, jerking his hand free, because Bo was right there at the door, and if this went wrong....

There was a frozen second where the wolves were nose to nose across the threshold, and then Bo wheeled and leapt away, tail waving like a flag, and Nate almost sobbed. No attack, no resistance, just _come chase me_ , just want and eagerness and giddy, playful delight, all focused on the wolf who was finally here with her.

Nate felt the warmth and proximity of Brad's body an instant before Brad's hand landed on his shoulder. He turned back to look and found Brad's wide eyes nearly all black with pupil. Brad's breath was coming short, and Nate grinned and shoved at him a little--if Bo wasn't going to just bend over for Frost, there was no reason Nate should make it easier than he had to for Brad.

But Brad just rocked back from Nate's push and said, "Please--can you--" and Nate reconsidered. He wanted this, Brad wanted this, and for once it was going to _work_.

Nate nodded and turned awkwardly around on his knees. Brad didn't--probably couldn't--back away to give him room. Now Nate faced the wolves and had Brad at his back. Frost was chasing Bo around the other end of the heat shack, just tagging her with a tap of his nose when he got close enough, letting her run when Nate was pretty sure he could have cornered her. From Bo Nate could feel nothing but excitement--even over the blast of her heat, her pounding essential need, he could feel her finally _wanting_ this. Wanting Frost.

Nate dropped to all fours and Brad immediately moved in close, his knees between Nate's, his thighs against Nate's thighs. He settled his hands on Nate's hips and then said, "I'm just gonna--check."

Nate tilted his hips up helpfully, getting his knees a little further apart. Brad's knees followed his, keeping the skin contact, even as Brad's right hand moved in across his ass, going straight to where Nate's fingers had been a minute ago.

He rubbed one finger over the slick softness of Nate's opening and Nate's eyes closed as he gritted out, "Two, fuck, if you're--"

Brad pressed inside with two fingers, fast and slick and easy. Nate's hips bucked back onto his hand, his head dropping to hang down.

Across the room, Bo was distracted and missed a step, and Frost caught up to her. He leaned against her this time, not with all his weight, but enough to ask her to keep still. She shivered but didn't run. Didn't fight.

Brad leaned forward a little more, resting some of his weight on the hand on Nate's hip, and crooked his fingers inside. Nate didn't make much of a sound out loud--just a harsh exhalation--but he felt Bo catching the sharp jolt of pleasure and almost-enough, _more please yes now_. Her hips twitched against Frost as Nate's pushed back onto Brad's hand.

She turned her head without trying to break away from Frost, and Frost leaned more heavily against her and bit at her muzzle almost gently. Bo let him, and Brad's fingers twisted in Nate's ass. Nate bit his lips to keep from begging--begging Brad or begging Bo--and Frost shifted to line himself up better.

Bo huffed, jerked her muzzle free and touched her nose to Frost's, a quick determined bump. Nate gasped and heard-- _felt_ \--Brad gasp behind him as the pack-sense suddenly opened up between them.

This went way beyond the mere voice-relay he and Brad had shared through Bo and Frost on the plane. This was the real thing, Bo choosing Frost for her pack and sharing with him completely. It was beyond Nate to hold anything back from the sudden new connection, and he knew Brad was equally unguarded. Nate could feel the heat and tightness of his ass on Brad's fingers, could feel Brad's hard-on and the wildness he was getting from Frost, the need to fuck. He could feel the last layer of ice cracking as Brad's control fell apart in the rush of the pack-sense, because Brad felt what Nate was feeling, felt Nate's need to get fucked, felt how long he'd been waiting--today and yesterday and a year and more, all the way back to practice-fucking after OCS--and how badly he wanted this, now.

Nate had one last clear thought-- _This is the way it's supposed to be_ \--which could have been his or Brad's or Frost's or Bo's or somehow spawned in the space between them.

Then things were happening, beyond words, beyond any hope of clarity, just a jumble of fingers and teeth and hips and tail. There was one aching second of emptiness before Brad thrust into him in one fast slide, Frost sinking into Bo at the same moment, everything lined up, everything finally in sync.

Nate let out a strangled sob--finally filled, finally satisfied, pleasure intense as pain lancing through his body, their bodies, all their bodies at once. Brad's weight settled onto his back, Brad's face pressed against the back of his shoulder, and his hand closed firmly on Nate's cock. That one sensation--that hand jerking him off with aching slowness--was the only one Nate was sure was completely his.

His awareness veered drunkenly through all of them, fucking, getting fucked, sweaty skin slipping across sweaty skin, fur rubbed the wrong way by fur. Every time he inhaled Nate could smell sweat and musk and sex, and he could smell _bitch-in-heat_ and _male-wolf_ and _pack-mates_ and _blood of vanquished enemy_ and _den_.

It went on and on, a dizzy lurching through overwhelming sensation, until Nate was suddenly slammed back into singular consciousness of his own body by his own orgasm. It was a blinding rush of pleasure, and it still felt weirdly flat and lonely; for a moment after it ended Nate was still alone in his own body--neurotransmitter refractory period. They'd been warned it could happen right after an injury, the bond suddenly attenuated when the brain couldn't keep up with the traffic.

Nate caught his breath enough to say, "You still there?" and realized as he did how completely insane that question was.

Brad huffed a laugh against the back of Nate's neck--still sunk balls-deep in his ass, though holding carefully still. Nate could feel the effort it took through every inch of Brad's skin pressed against every inch of his. Brad was hard everywhere, rigid with restraint, his breathing registering as a quick, shallow rhythm of pressure against Nate's back. His hand was still on Nate's cock--wetter and stickier now, but still hard--though he'd gentled his grip a little for now.

The wolves were still there, too, right in front of Nate--tied now, catching their breath, waiting each other out--and even if Nate couldn't smell _bitch in heat_ or _male wolf_ until his brain pulled itself together enough to plug back into Bo, he could smell wolves and sex and blood and sweat. His pack was still all around him, inside him, with him in every way that mattered.

Nate rocked his hips a little, shoving his cock into Brad's grip and then his ass onto Brad's cock. The sensation was sharper, but still strangely hollow for a few seconds--and then the pack-sense was back in place like the sudden end of a power outage, everything lighting up and turning on again. He could feel it from Brad's side, the almost-unbearable intensity of the sensation on Brad's cock and the terrible effort Brad was spending on keeping still. He could _hear_ Brad, for some reason frantically thinking _don't bite don't bite don't bite_ , gritting his teeth as he pressed his face against the back of Nate's neck.

Nate raised his head enough to press the nape of his neck up against Brad's face, twisting his hips at the same time. _You could_.

He'd been bitten like that once before and hated it because it was a failed effort to control his sister through him, because there had been no countervailing pleasure for the pain. Now he wanted Brad everywhere, all his skin as needy as his ass and his cock. The nape of his neck felt sadly neglected, all of a sudden.

Brad groaned, and Nate only understood the mutter of, "Fuck, don't tempt me," because he heard it from inside Brad's head as much as with his own ears. Brad licked up the line of Nate's spine and pressed sloppy kisses along it as he finally started to move again, fucking Nate steadily, unable to resist chasing his own orgasm. It wouldn't be the end of anything; this would go on for hours--days weren't out of the question, though Nate thought that was rarer with solos--and it was good to start as slow as possible.

But Brad had already gone to the brink with Nate. The incautious lust of the wolves was running through him just the same. There was no ice to him at all now, and the one shred of caution he was still holding on to was remembering not to use his teeth.

Nate bared his own teeth in a fierce grin and did everything he could--everything they all could--to make Brad forget that, too.

* * *

They got a little breathing space, eventually. Bo and Frost sprawled in a heap at one end of the heat-shack, and Nate collapsed onto his belly a couple of yards away. Brad--fucking recon showoff--stayed on his knees over Nate for a few seconds and then _stood up_ and walked over to the supply locker.

Nate stared at the far wall, lazily tracking Brad through pack-sense instead of actually listening to his footsteps, let alone watching what he was doing. Brad crouched down to rifle through the selection of bitch-pudding packets. Nate wondered vaguely if anybody _else's_ lube-and-come-sticky fingers had sifted through them before, and Brad jerked his hands back and reached for a towel to wipe off on before he actually touched them.

Brad registered _butterscotch_ like it was a good thing. Nate wrinkled his nose.

It was a little startling when Brad said out loud, "Don't you like butterscotch?"

Nate turned his head to look, and Brad was looking back at Nate over his shoulder. He looked actually curious about Nate's answer, like his resignation wasn't all over the pack-sense between them.

Nate shook his head, mashing his cheek into the floor. "Chocolate peanut butter's way better."

Brad raised both eyebrows and then turned and leaned into the supply locker. Nate watched the flex of muscle in his ass and thighs, the shift of shadow and color on Brad's back, and the way the arches of his feet wrinkled as he shifted his weight. Nate picked up his sense of triumph--his sense of _successfully providing for the pack_ \--an instant before Brad's upper body twisted, and a little foil packet came skimming across the floor.

Nate lunged for it, not bothering to look at the label before he ripped it open and squeezed chocolate peanut butter into his mouth.

Brad thought _it really does look like shit, though_ and Nate almost choked, laughing with a mouthful of bitch pudding.

* * *

The pack-sense returned in the wake of Nate's orgasm--third, or maybe fourth, or maybe more than that. It was hard to keep straight. Brad was right where Nate had left him, fucking him relentlessly; Nate tried to remember how many times Brad had come, and couldn't. He glanced over at the wolves, and Bo looked back at him, panting, and gave him a wordless, triumphant smirk through their bond.

Nate grinned at her, and Brad's cock slammed into him a little harder on that stroke, making his breath catch for the tenth or hundredth time. Nate pushed back into Brad's thrust for the thousandth time and shook his head, still grinning, and felt Brad's amusement through the pack-sense.

 _This is never going to end_ , Nate thought. _This is it, forever. When they finally let us out the war will be over._

 _We'll go surfing_ , Brad thought, and Nate shook his head again, thinking of his over-spacious cabin in officers' country on the _Dubuque_ , filled with other guys' optimistically-packed surfboards. Of course Brad was a California surfer boy.

 _Don't worry, Baltimore_ , Brad returned, and scraped his teeth lightly over the top of Nate's shoulder. _I'll teach you. I won't even laugh when you suck at it._

 _Much_ , Nate replied. Bo would probably be better at it than he would.

Brad laughed a little at that--the image of her on a surfboard was crystal clear to all of them. Bo thought it was a great idea, and Frost was intrigued.

Brad's hand tightened on Nate's hip, nudging him to a slightly different angle, and his fucking shifted around again to that angle that made the top of Nate's head tingle. Nate started laughing. They were fucking and talking about surfing; they'd been fucking for so long it had gotten boring, and it was still _never going to end_.

Brad was laughing with him; Nate felt it in the pack-sense long before Brad's body gave any sign, still fucking him in perfect rhythm. When Brad's breath finally caught, it spilled out in a high giggle that only made Nate laugh harder, which made Brad laugh harder. They breathed in huge half-drowned gasps between waves of laughter; Nate's arms went out from under him and Brad managed to throw them sideways so Nate didn't get a faceful of the floor.

They hadn't done this angle yet, and somehow that was also hilarious, and so were the pins and needles in the heels of Nate's hands, braced on so long they'd gone to sleep without him noticing. Nate and Brad were laughing in unsteady screeches and snorts, fucking in awkward, breathless spasms and still unable to stop.

It took three hiccups--each one a sharp painful jab in the gut, a click in the throat--before Nate was sure that it was Brad who was hiccuping, and not himself.

"Fu--ck," Brad gasped, still giggling, "I fucking--hate--"

"Hold," Nate said, but he couldn't even say it, _hold your breath_ , without giggling, and he knew Brad wouldn't be able to do it. Neither of them could keep still. "I need--"

He couldn't speak through Brad's hiccups, but Nate could think it and knew Brad would understand, and he knew that Brad--recon showoff, provider for the pack--would come through. A few seconds--a few sloppy, wild thrusts--later, Brad did, pulling out of Nate and rolling onto his back.

For an instant Nate thought the shock of disconnection would be enough, but Brad's voice broke on a hiccup in the middle of, "Nate, _please_ ," and Nate had no more time to consider. He grabbed Brad's cock and dropped onto it with a shock as sharp as disconnection and twice as good, straddling Brad's hips and leaning forward. He could have kissed Brad like this, and the thought just set him off again, giggling uncontrollably, tears streaming from his face. Brad was shaking his head, eyes squeezed shut, every breath hitching on a hiccup.

Nate committed and moved, dropping both hands onto Brad's face--one over his mouth, one pinching his nose, Nate's weight behind them even as his shoulders shook with manic laughter. Brad bucked under him and Nate's vision went bright-edged, but his hands stayed steady. He felt Brad stop laughing, sharply, a rush of adrenaline at the pressure of Nate's hands successfully stopping his breath. But his hands didn't come up to knock Nate's away, and his hips didn't stop jerking up, fucking into Nate from below, another new angle.

Nate blinked his eyes into focus and found Brad staring up at him, and his own laughter stopped in his throat. He felt the punch of a hiccup in his gut and pressed down harder, and said hoarsely, "Swallow." He watched Brad's throat move--felt it, felt how dry it was--they both should have been hydrating more. Nate kept pressing down, holding Brad's breath for him even now that Brad was capable of holding it himself. There was a silence in the place a hiccup should have been, and then silence, and silence.

And then his shoulders and the back of his head smacked against the padded floor as Brad flipped him down onto the floor and fucked him, fierce and fast and hard. Nate stretched his hands out above him, arms straight, wrists crossed. He kept his eyes on Brad's.

* * *

Brad's fingers were dripping with lube, and Nate couldn't stop pressing himself back onto them as soon as Brad touched him. He also couldn't stop the pained noise that scraped out of his throat.

"Yeah," Brad said, "We can--can you hold on? Two minutes?"

Nate nodded and curled away as Brad's hand withdrew, tucking a knee under himself as he rocked helplessly against the floor. They'd lost their last entire downtime getting sucked into the same hazy doze as the wolves, half-conscious and too weighted down to even separate themselves. They'd woken when Bo's heat crested again, scrambling to prepare themselves. Now they were out of sync--Frost was already inside Bo again--and the disjunction hurt. Everything hurt, by now.

This hurt in a new way, though, the stretch-sting-burn of penetration--it was a benign hurt that Nate almost couldn't understand for a few seconds. The absence of real pain was as disorienting as a sudden absence of gravity--the slick push into tightness, awkward twist of wrist, his cock throbbing like the first time all over again.

Then everything fell into place, perfectly mirrored and back in line--that was Brad's ass, he was feeling it from _Brad_ , not himself. Nate thought _mine_ even as some other part of him thought _oh, yes, position reversal_ , something barely mentioned in classes back in TBS.

Nate burst into motion, scrambling up onto all fours and grabbing Brad's wrist with one hand, the lube with the other. He yanked Brad's fingers back and slicked his own, sliding them roughly into Brad's ass and stroking deep and fast. He knew exactly what Brad could take, and he needed to be part of this, needed to be connected with Brad in any way he could.

Brad arched his back, head tipping back and hips pushing up into Nate's hand, and while Brad was breathing in harsh gasps he was thinking, _Condom, Nate, get a condom on, now now now._

Nate growled, twisting his fingers inside Brad, and dropped the bottle of lube, reached forward to meet Brad's hand reaching back, slapping the condom packet into his hand. Nate tore it open with his teeth, getting a mouthful of the chemical-protection-slick the thing was bathed in. He spit to get rid of the taste as he got hold of the condom, rolling it awkwardly, left-handed, onto his own dick. He was half-aware of following the motion of Brad's hand--Brad was miming it for him left-handed, to make it easier to imitate, because he knew Nate hadn't had a hell of a lot of practice with getting a condom on wrong-handed in the middle of heat. Mostly Nate was aware that he was ready. Brad was ready, hot and slick around his fingers, the burn already fading to eagerness.

Almost in a single motion, Nate pulled his fingers from Brad's ass and pushed his cock in. He and Brad made the same noise, almost in unison, closer to a sigh than a moan. It felt good--it would feel better when Nate adjusted his angle a little, but there was time for that. There had already been plenty of feeling good. It didn't really hurt--just residual pain from before--and that was an improvement.

What really mattered was the sensation of closing a circuit. They were back in sync with the wolves, sunk back into the mind and body and heat of the pack. Even if they were a little bit backward and upside down, this _fit_. They were where they were supposed to be.

Nate started to move, going slowly and carefully. He was shorter than Brad, so he couldn't position himself exactly the way Brad had while fucking him. He found the angle that hit Brad's prostate--Brad made a noise that Nate felt in his own throat. The little lightning-strike of pleasure was something improbably new, after all this time.

Once he'd found it, though, Nate adjusted away from that angle. There was no need to waste it. Every fifth or tenth thrust was enough. Nate closed his hands on Brad's hips to remind himself not to touch Brad's cock--Brad didn't want a reach-around anymore than Nate wanted his ass fingered.

Nate shifted his weight forward a little, leaning down over Brad's back, and Brad nodded, shifting his posture a little to steady himself. Nate honestly didn't know whether Brad's, _Yeah, I've got you_ , was said out loud or not.

Nate settled onto Brad's back, turning his head so he pressed his cheek to Brad's shoulder blade, only his hips in motion. He bit his tongue to find it, to be sure he was speaking aloud when he said, "If I fall asleep...."

"Neither of us will be able to tell," Brad assured him, and Nate felt Brad breathing under him and knew he'd said that aloud.

"Excellent point," Nate said, and didn't worry about that any more.

* * *

"They cannot be fucking serious," Brad said with one arm slung over his face, like if he didn't look Bo and Frost wouldn't be getting up to fuck again, and his own cock wouldn't be hard, his hips already hitching almost involuntarily.

Nate looked around at the condom wrappers, crushed empty water bottles, bitch-pudding packets, and thoroughly disemboweled wolf-MRE packages and found an intact condom package. He tore it open and slid it onto Brad. Brad sighed, but he brought his arm down, using thumb and finger to anchor the condom at the base of his cock while Nate moved to straddle him.

Nate shut his eyes and sank onto Brad's cock fast. Too fast. They'd gotten ahead of the wolves and for a few blinding seconds it just _hurt_ and nothing else. It hurt for him and it hurt for Brad and the only thing the heat did for either of them was keep their dicks hard, keep them needing it. Then Bo and Frost got with the program and there was _something_ good in the mix, wolf-wanting and wolf-satisfaction blending with human exhaustion and human friction burns.

Nate and Brad had figured out hours earlier the exact slowest pace they could move at and still be scratching the itch enough not to go crazy. Nate managed to keep that up, holding himself upright over Brad and rocking up and down on the strength of his own legs, for about three minutes before his legs hurt nearly as badly as his ass.

"Gonna get a charley horse," Brad said, and Nate looked down--he'd been staring at the ceiling, concentrating on keeping the right pace. "Come down here, take some of your weight off."

Nate rocked forward and let his hands hit the floor on either side of Brad's shoulders. Brad got his feet under him, curling his hips to keep the angle with Nate bent forward, and that was easier, more back-and-forth than up-and-down. It changed the angle of Brad's cock inside him to something that felt kind of new, a different pleasure-pain mix than before. Better, maybe. Distracting, at least.

Nate's arms started to shake. He closed his eyes and laughed a little. Brad just made a frustrated noise and closed his hands on Nate's forearms, tugging Nate's arms into a bend.

Nate's hands slipped the last couple of inches, but Brad didn't flinch, eyes steady on Nate's, hands tight on Nate's arms as Nate's elbows hit the floor just above Brad's shoulders, bracketing his head. Another new angle, entirely new and definitely better, and now Nate's cock was trapped between their bodies. The warm press of sweaty skin was almost not overwhelming. It was almost just good.

"Shit," Nate muttered, pressing his face against Brad's throat, since it was right there. "I'm going to come, this is--fuck, fuck--this is good."

His weight was mostly resting on Brad now, and he only had to rock back and forth, moving his ass on Brad's cock and grinding his cock into Brad's belly, and however much it hurt it didn't hurt enough to remind him that he had to save something for later, because there was no knowing how much longer it might go on.

"Hey," Brad said, his voice sounding strained in a different way than any of the handful of ways Nate had gotten used to hearing. Nate felt Brad's breath on his jaw, and looked up to see Brad had his head tucked up so that they were face to face.

Their eyes met and Nate felt a surge of want that somehow still managed to be unfamiliar, after all these hours. Not from the wolves; this was just between them, right here. Each of them could feel the other's breath on his face, on his mouth, and they both needed to think about something other than coming.

Their mouths met softly, carefully. This was theirs, just theirs, nothing driving them but the fact that they wanted to. Chapped lips on chapped lips, and they both tasted equally of chocolate peanut butter and fatigue. The kiss wouldn't hold together at first, breaking on every rocking thrust of hips, and then Nate caught the rhythm, caught Brad's muscle-memory of riding waves, letting the motion roll through him, through both of them together. Brad smiled into the kiss-- _you might not suck at it after all_ \--and Nate pictured doing this on a surfboard.

Brad laughed against his mouth and Nate licked inside. One kiss after another, following Brad's lead to time their breaths and get every second of connection they could in between, this slick painless touch, scrape of teeth and press of tongues, lips dragging. Brad's hands were on Nate's hands now, fingers tangled, and Nate dragged their combined grip under Brad's head, a pillow of knuckles and tendons. Brad relaxed into it just a little, just enough to make their kisses lighter, make Nate chase them more deliberately.

 _Chase you anywhere_ , Nate thought, and from some other life came the memory of his and Bo's dreams of running with recon in the dark hills of Afghanistan. Brad's hands squeezed on his, and Brad pushed up enough to bite Nate's lower lip. No chasing required.

Nate's orgasm blindsided him. He went still, even his hips stuttering to a halt for a moment while his cock jerked between them. Even before it was over Brad was moving under him, licking up into Nate's mouth, getting his heels under him to fuck up into Nate's ass, and Nate just had to keep still, just exist, just let Brad have him one more time. Brad would keep it together until Nate could bring himself to move again, and for now Nate could almost rest. The way he was lying over Brad reminded him suddenly of working out with Rudy--toward the end Rudy had always made them spend a minute lying with their legs folded under them, head bowed and arms stretched forward. Nate had Brad under him now instead of the rolling deck of the ship, but it was almost the same rhythm. Brad would keep him afloat.

Nate tilted his head, chasing a kiss when Brad took a second to breathe. Brad made a helpless noise and Nate did it again, just a tiny movement, almost just gravity, just the swell and flow of the kiss between them. Nate felt Brad's orgasm approaching, the electric feeling intensifying down his spine and up his thighs. When Brad came, Nate knew, it would be his turn again, his job to make this work, but for just a few seconds more he could wait and do nothing but kiss Brad slowly and breathe and be here.

Brad came, climax jolting through them both. In the disconnected second after, Nate picked his head up a little and gathered himself to move.

He realized, the first time he dragged his hips into motion, that his dick was going soft.

"Oh thank God," Nate gasped, looking over to see Bo and Frost standing side by side and giving them superior, amused looks.

"Jesus Christ, move," Brad groaned, disentangling his hands from Nate's to shove at Nate, but Nate was already pushing up and off of Brad. He never made it upright, just stumbled a few feet away and collapsed onto his side, on top of a scattering of trash. Brad rolled onto his side, facing Nate, as Nate went down. He flung out a hand like Nate could somehow fall further than the padded floor, or could possibly hurt himself more.

Nate slapped his hand down onto Brad's like he needed to be caught, and held on tight. Brad held on right back, and they lay there without moving. Nate noticed the trash he'd fallen on top of prickling against his skin, noticed how he felt more exhausted with every thudding beat of his heart. His eyes were closed and he wasn't sure when that had happened.

It didn't matter. He could still place everyone in the room, still feel all that they felt. Brad was in almost as much pain as he was. He noticed through Brad, first, the feeling of sweat going cold on their skin, and then he noticed it himself, and then he started to shiver.

The wolf who lay down in the curve of Nate's body, covering him from chest to thighs, had a long, thick coat and threw off heat like an engine. Nate opened his eyes to see Bo lying on Frost's other side, pressed up against Brad. Nate snuggled slightly closer to Frost and reached across him to lay his free hand on Bo's spine.

She twisted to lick across his knuckles and then tucked her head down against Brad's throat. Frost licked Nate's cheek.

"Can't do this forever," Nate mumbled. Brad and Frost were going back to their recon team as soon as the exit door opened; Bo would have to let them go from this little pack-of-four, and the bonds between them would be broken for good.

"Go to sleep, Nate," Brad muttered from the other side of the wolves. "Worry later."

Nate knew enough to listen to an NCO who'd been in the Marine Corps when Nate was in junior high. He slept.

* * *

The exit door swung open and Bo and Frost picked their heads up. Nate opened his eyes, looking blurrily across the wolves to Brad, who was blinking back like he felt about the same. Nate didn't have to look to know that there was a hospitalman in scrubs in the doorway, smelling enough like the last one for Bo and Frost to both find him unobjectionable.

The wolves were more interested in the smell of fresh food coming from the decon room on the other side of the open door, but they stayed put, unwilling to move until Nate and Brad were ready.

Nate's palm was sweaty, his fingers threatening to cramp. Brad's hand, still under his, felt the same.

"Come on," the hospitalman said from the door, "two hours of sleep is enough for anybody. You need to hydrate and get your med checks and then you can sleep the next twenty-four if you want to."

Brad raised an eyebrow. _Ready?_

Nate turned up one corner of his mouth, not quite a smile. _As I'll ever be._

They both squeezed at the same time, let go at the same time, and even as they did Bo and Frost were jumping to their feet and heading for the door. Nate and Brad each got to their feet on their own.

Nate offered his hand to Brad again. The door was open; they had a witness. They might still be in the heat-shack, but this wasn't what it had been, a minute or an hour ago.

"Thank you, Sergeant. Couldn't have done it without you." It was an absolutely vacuous statement, said out loud, but that was all right. For one last moment they had the pack-sense between them, and Brad knew what Nate meant. He knew what he and Frost had saved Nate and Bo from. He knew Nate meant _If I had to do this with anyone, I'm glad it was you._

Brad's mouth curved, a smile for the ridiculousness of what Nate said. But his eyes stayed steady on Nate's, and he took Nate's hand in a firm grip and shook it. "Happy to help, sir."

 _Bo_ , Nate thought, and reminded her of the pack they'd be going home to, the pack Brad and Frost had waiting for them in the infirmary.

Bo huffed--Frost licked her face--and the pack-sense was gone. They were alone. With Brad's eyes still on his, Brad's hand still in his grip, Nate wanted to ask again, _Are you still there?_

It would have been a stupid question. Brad was already gone.

* * *

Nate and Bo were sent up into officers' country for their required twenty-four hours of observation. There was sunlight up there, sparkling off the ocean. Nate blinked at it for a few disoriented seconds and then crowded onto a bunk with Bo. She tucked her muzzle right up under Nate's jaw, her breath hot on his throat. Nate slung an arm and leg over her, dragged a blanket over them both, and slept. Whenever he woke up--in sunlight, in fluorescent light, in near-darkness--there was an officer on one of the other bunks, or at least a wolf sitting nearby, watching them. None of the wolves spoke through the pack-sense to Bo. They could, if they needed to, but the level of the inter-service Great Pack, uniting Navy and Marine Corps, was beyond the org chart Bo normally carried in her head.

Anyway, Bo was busy sleeping. Maybe even gestating. Nate ran one hand sleepily down Bo's side, past her ribs to the softness of her belly. Nothing to feel yet, of course, but there might be, in a few weeks. If there were, the whole litter would be Frost's get. Every man who bonded with one of these pups would owe Brad a drink if they ever met. They'd all owe Nate one, too.

Nate fell asleep again imagining that, having a drink with one Marine after another, listening to each of them tell him about the time they'd met Brad Colbert and his brother Frost.

* * *

Nate woke up for real toward the end of his twenty-four. He had time to eat a couple of solid meals, put his bizarrely clean fatigues back on and wander around the ship--still observed by Lt. Garvey and his brother Vic--scrounging and bargaining for Christmas presents for his guys back at Camp Rhino.

Of course, the best Christmas present any of them were going to get was waiting on the C-130 when Nate and Bo boarded it. They were surrounded by crates of cold weather gear for a mission into the mountains.

"Holy shit," Nate whispered, staring. "It's actually happening." _And we didn't miss it_.

Bo had triumphant thoughts of showing Frost what an infantry platoon could do. Nate tried to focus on that, instead of the prospect of a long flight in a jump seat. His ass still hurt like hell, and this wasn't going to be a smooth ride.

* * *

Nate's early warning system--Bo getting agitated and trying to climb into his lap--indicated that they were already descending when he felt it again, like his brain unfolding and opening up, like stepping through a door into a place that hadn't existed a second ago. The pack-sense was back. His platoon was waiting.

He felt almost physically buffeted by their excitement-- _LT got some!_ echoing and re-echoing in forty-four voices.

Nate reached for a private connection up the chain, and Bo's mind contacted Astra's, putting Nate in touch with Captain Whitmer. _In one piece as ordered, sir. And guess what we're riding with?_

Nate opened his eyes and focused on a label, giving Whitmer the visual without commentary.

He felt his CO's startled laugh like a slap on the back, and felt, too, the way Captain Whitmer instantly started calculating what this meant for them. Nate could feel the places where it slotted into intel the captain already had, walled away from the pack-sense he shared down the chain with Nate and Jim and, through them, their men.

Nate pulled away, letting him think, but the connection remained. They might not be on the ground quite yet, but Nate and Bo were back with their pack.

* * *

Captain Whitmer and Astra were waiting when Nate and Bo got clear of the C-130's ramp, and Jim and Strider were standing a few yards behind them. Nate jogged forward--running felt so much better than sitting--and Bo took off in her crazy desert-wolf sprint toward Astra.

She hit Astra like a wall. It took Nate a few seconds to realize he'd jumped at her just as she reached him. By that time they were already on the ground in a cloud of dust, Bo on her back with her legs in the air, Astra with two feet on her chest and his teeth at her throat.

Captain Whitmer closed the distance between them--Nate had stopped short--and said aloud, "It's necessary, Nate. He just has to be sure she doesn't get the idea that she's Head Bitch in Charge now just because she's finally all grown up."

Nate nodded--Astra was already stepping back, letting Bo up. Bo waved her tail low, puppy-like, and licked Astra's face. Astra put up with it for a few seconds, then nudged her away, and Bo trotted off to greet Strider. Captain Whitmer's hand came down on Nate's shoulder and squeezed, and he steered Nate toward his quarters. _Time to debrief_.

Bo turned away from Strider, but Nate shook his head. _Go see our men and wolves. Be sure they're all right. I'll join you soon._

For a second Nate was overwhelmed with _a cool shadowed place in the midst of the hot sand_ , and then Bo turned and trotted away.

Captain Whitmer's quarters were about as private as Nate and Jim's--he didn't have holes in the roof, but he did have a handful of other officers crammed into the same space. He leaned against the wall--they were in a corner, at least--and said, "I won't ask you to sit."

Nate nodded his thanks. He took out the official breeding report and handed it over. "It went all right eventually. Bo rejected the scheduled wolf, but one of the Marines on watch volunteered his brother, and Bo accepted him. Sir, I think the problem is that she doesn't like strangers--wolves outside what she can keep track of through the pack-sense. Frost was from within the 15th MEU, and that seemed to make it easier for her."

Captain Whitmer looked up sharply from the papers. "Nate, you know there's a reason bitches aren't introduced to breeding partners in advance. Especially not alpha bitches."

Nate nodded. He'd already walled it away in his mind, just how much Bo had chosen Frost. There was nothing for Captain Whitmer to pluck out of Nate's thoughts through the pack-sense. Bo wasn't leading the charge back to the Old Ways, where an alpha bitch determined the human leadership of her pack by her choice of mate. Bo just didn't like strangers. They'd find a way to work around it, next time.

Captain Whitmer looked back down at the page. "Recon, huh. Do you want him on your exclusion list?"

Nate's exclusion list--intended to keep him and Bo out of chain-of-command or other close working relationships with wolves and men they'd encountered in the heat-shack--already included all eight from last year.

"The original guy needs to be on there, the Aussie. Bo may really try to kill Smoke if she gets a whiff of him, and if we're going up into the mountains, if there's coalition presence, sir, she may...."

Captain Whitmer nodded. "I'll send that one in within the hour. That makes nine. You can go to ten before you have to ask for an exception. I know solos can be weird even if they go all right, and no one will ask your reasons, it's just a yes or no. Do you want Colbert on your exclusion list?"

Nate considered, for about half a second, making sure that he and Bo would never again cross paths with Brad and Frost, never serve beside them. Never hunt with them in the hills, or up in the mountains.

"No, sir," Nate said firmly. "It's not necessary. We both did our jobs to the best our abilities and got a good result. Bo and I would be honored to serve with them in the future."


	2. Epilogue: San Diego, March 2002

It could have been worse, Nate knew. Bo could have gone and hidden somewhere belowdecks on the _Dubuque_ before she was too ungainly to get up and down the ladders. Her birthing den could have been down in the bowels of the ship somewhere; then Nate would not only have been stuck on the ship indefinitely even after they docked in San Diego, he wouldn't have been able to see daylight.

There was something perfect, anyway, about the fact that she'd given birth to Frost's pups under a lean-to made of the surfboards stashed in Nate's cabin. No one had tried to retrieve them after the ship docked. Nate had promised to bring them all down to Oceanside, just as soon as Bo was willing to move the litter.

For now, though, Nate was stuck. The pups had been born the day after they left Hawaii, and four days later Bo had let Nate out of her sight exactly long enough for him to meet his parents and sisters and go out to dinner in San Diego. Nate's family wasn't allowed back on the ship, which saved Nate from having to tell them that, as much as Bo had adored them on the liberties they'd spent at home before, she wasn't going to let them close enough to see her pups now.

Nate had spent most of the two weeks since the pups were born lying on the floor of the cabin, waiting for them to venture out of the shelter of the surfboards to crawl all over him, chewing on his fingers and any other part of his body they could get teeth around, waddling and running into things and slowly morphing from blind balls of fur into actual puppies.

Today would have been like any other day, except that Bo suddenly stood up, dislodging the three pups who'd been dozing against her stomach. Her ears pricked forward and her tail curved up like a banner. Nate caught the scent through their bond: _cold salt water rising wave on wave over dry sand_.

Just behind it came Colbert's voice across the relay of the wolves. _Permission to come aboard, sir?_

Nate scrambled up--keeping a grip on the pup who'd dozed off in the crook of his arm--and opened the hatch. Frost broke into a run in the passage outside but then hesitated in the open hatch until Colbert caught up with him. Bo pushed impatiently past Nate's legs and touched noses with Frost, and then Nate was jostled aside by both wolves, as Bo took Frost inside to meet the litter.

Colbert stayed on his side of the hatch, only reaching out to stroke a finger over the round belly of the pup who still slept against Nate's chest. This one had a desert coat, velvet-short and solidly sand-colored except for his white paws.

Nate cleared his throat and remembered to speak out loud. "Come on in, Sergeant. This is _Dubuque_."

Colbert raised his eyebrows, and Nate backed up to let him in, reaching out to Bo's mind and asking her to give Colbert the pup's name. Nate caught it too--a sunny morning on deck, crowded with men and wolves.

"Technically he's _warm morning on the_ Dubuque," Nate explained. "But I've been calling him _Dubuque_ for short."

"Understood." Colbert knelt carefully just short of the pile of pups. They were waking up, starting to climb over each other to get at the two new creatures who had invaded their den. _Dubuque_ woke up and launched himself out of Nate's grip. Colbert caught him on the fly, dropping him quickly among his brothers with a sharp look at Bo.

Bo just looked amused, and nudged a few of the pups toward Colbert.

"Official paternity confirmation came in yesterday for all six," Colbert explained, nodding toward Frost. Nate had seen enough of those confirmation forms to know it would have told Brad where the pups had been born and when, which would have given him a pretty good guess that they hadn't been moved yet. "My parents live here in San Diego, so we were in town anyway--thought we'd come up and say hello. I figured we have a better chance of spotting them later if we meet the litter now."

Nate took his cue and introduced Colbert to the rest of the pups, with Bo coming in to supply their scent names. The first was _sun on sand at the ocean's edge_ , who climbed up Brad's thigh and attempted to bite--or find a nipple on--his stomach. Next came _snow on sand in thin mountain air_ , who had Bo's brindle markings on Frost's fluffy coat. _Cold night in a mountain fighting hole_ was the opposite, solid white like Frost with a desert coat.

 _Dew on eucalyptus_ , who was ignoring the newcomers and trying to get Bo to let him nurse, looked like Dubuque except that his white socks came up higher. Frost grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and dropped him on Nate's lap, effectively distracting him from bothering Bo.

The smallest of the pups, _sun on salt-rimed stone_ , was brindled white and gray, like lines of salt on a boulder. He flopped down between Frost's front feet and lay with his head on his father's paw, watching his brothers without joining them in tumbling over Colbert or Nate.

Colbert leaned across the two pups on his lap and picked up _sun on salt-rimed stone_. He promptly started licking Brad's face, which was when Brad said idly, "I hear you're coming to recon, sir."

Nate looked down at _dew on eucalyptus_ and _snow on sand in thin mountain air_ in his lap, both of them standing on his thighs and looking around at their brothers, reaching out with half-blind puppy fumbling to catch the pack-sense of the litter.

"Yeah," Nate said. "I got my official orders last week. Hopefully the pups don't keep us out of BRC this summer, and I can get the rest of my training in."

Nate was excited--it would mean another deployment, more time in the field leading men instead of being stuck behind a desk--but it also meant worrying about how Bo would handle recon training with a litter still nursing or just weaned. And worrying about Bo was a hell of a lot easier than worrying about himself.

"They give you a company assignment?" Colbert held _sun on salt-rimed stone_ up to his shoulder, and the pup immediately wriggled free, balancing on his shoulder and trying to climb onto his head. Colbert held perfectly still, one hand hover to catch the pup if he fell.

"Bravo," Nate said, glancing quickly from Colbert to Frost. Even without putting them on his exclusion list, he had to figure BreedCom would keep them away from each other.

"No telling who you've got, then," Brad said. "Bravo's practically just a paper company now, with guys finishing their hitches and moving around. I don't think they've got more than one platoon actually in place yet."

It wasn't intended as reassurance, just straight intel. Nate gave Brad an almost-smile for it, and said, "Well, I have to get through BRC and SERE and whatever else, first."

"No, sir," Colbert said, catching _sun on salt-rimed stone_ as he fell toward the deck a second after leaping onto the top of Brad's head. "First you have to get off this ship. You think Bo will let me escort you ashore if I ask really nicely?"

Nate looked over at Bo, who lay down across Frost's front feet, just where her pup had been lying. She gave Nate an amused look.

Without looking away from her, Nate said, "I believe she'll require an exchange of hostages."

"That's fair," Colbert said. "I said I'd teach you to surf, and despite what he likes to think Frost won't be any help with that."

Nate grinned, remembering exactly when Colbert had said that. He thought about his chances of fucking up and going under--the gut-deep fear of drowning grabbed him--and then he thought about the fact that Colbert would be right there with him. Holding him up, if Nate needed it.

More importantly, he thought about getting off this ship sometime before his libo was up. It was absolutely worth risking drowning.

Nate dropped _dew on eucalyptus_ and _snow on sand in the thin mountain air_ on the floor in front of their parents. He was on his feet fast enough to give Colbert a hand up once he'd disentangled himself from his own lapful of puppies.

It was the first time they'd touched since parting in the heat-shack, and for an instant Nate felt like he was drowning already. Then he took a breath and remembered to smile. Colbert smiled back. A second after that, they both remembered to let go.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Queen of Sheba](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184555) by [SapphoIsBurning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphoIsBurning/pseuds/SapphoIsBurning)




End file.
